GULLIXSON: Inside that rowdy town hall debate

<p>It was boisterous. At times it was vulgar and borderline abusive. But there was also something very authentic about Rep. Lynn Woolsey's town hall meeting Monday night at the Petaluma Veterans Memorial Hall.</p><p>In an age of scripted TV debates and scrubbed-and-polished political events, it was refreshing to witness something as unbridled as this.</p><p>How often do we get 1,200 or so people together in the same auditorium to cheer or jeer passionately about something real?</p><p>Frankly, I haven't see this kind of raw partisanship since that infamous Friday night Dodger-Giant game in the 1980s after which they decided to quit selling beers in the stands. It's good to see people so fired up, particularly about something other than a sporting event or an episode of “American Idol.”</p><p>I wasn't so sure at the beginning. When I arrived 40 minutes early and waded through the sea of humanity and signs to get one of the last open seats in the grandstand, I was unsure of what to expect.</p><p>“I hope there's no silliness,” said the man next to me with an American flag on his hat. He was a stay-at-home dad from Freestone who was opposed to health care reform, but he was gracious and friendly. “I hope we all hear each other out,” he said.</p><p>Unfortunately, that hope was quickly extinguished after Woolsey walked to the podium. About one-third of the hall erupted in cheers while another one-third booed. The other third was somewhere in the middle, which pretty much describes the math of our national health care debate.</p><p>“We love you, Lynn,” somebody yelled.</p><p>“Go home,” a voice cried.</p><p>“Heil Hitler,” someone shouted when Woolsey talked about a public option.</p><p>It would go back and forth like this all evening. The volume and hostility ebbed and flowed.</p><p>“What is more important to you,” one speaker pleaded, turning toward reform opponents, “your money or your children's lives?"</p><p>“Our liberty,” someone shouted.</p><p>One woman got an ovation when she accused Congress of “cramming this down our throats.” Another got an ovation for saying health care coverage “was a moral issue.”</p><p>“This is great entertainment,” said a man seated in front of me at one point.</p><p>“This is useless,” said a woman behind me who got up and walked out.</p><p>It was about then that I began to see this event for what it was — a show. But not a useless one.</p><p>The majority of people didn't come to watch something. They were there to express something: support, opposition, ideas, stories, emotions, etc. This was an opportunity to vent. And they took full advantage of it.</p><p>It reminded me of those unruly sessions with Tony Blair and the House of Commons. </p><p>Yes, sometimes people were disrespectful. More than once, the speaker had to say something like “Please, let me finish.” But it was a self-regulating crowd. Those who sought to disrupt were shushed into submission. There were some brief shouting matches, some expletives exchanged and lots of grandstanding. But there were no fisticuffs. Nothing was thrown. No one was arrested. </p><p>At one point, a man tried to unfurl a large banner but someone quickly pulled it down and motioned to a police officer. The banner was quickly put away. </p><p>I counted seven police officers in all, and not once did I see any of them have to confront someone.</p><p>Most of the speakers were real people debating real issues through real stories — from the Marin County Presbyterian minister who said her brother died for a lack of health insurance, to the North Bay businesswoman who's angry that of the 1,300 health insurers in the nation, she can only choose from the six that are allowed to operate in California.</p><p>There was the Mill Valley small business owner with 92 employees, all insured, who asked why the government was willing to spend $1 trillion it didn't have on a health reform plan “when 75 percent of the country is happy with (the health coverage) they have?”</p><p>And there was the Sonoma man who said he waited more than a year before he was denied financial help from Medi-Cal for his 27-year-old wheelchair-bound daughter who has Rhett syndrome. The money was going to help her to talk.</p><p>Woolsey, for her part, performed admirably. She did not lose her cool and tried to maintain some sense of decorum. Although her answers didn't shed much new light on the subject, she was straightforward and, give her credit, outspoken in where she stood.</p><p>“I'm just so disappointed how close-minded and disrespectful some people were,” said Santa Rosa architect Mark Quattrocchi after the forum ended and the room emptied. </p><p>“It wasn't the Norman Rockwell town hall meeting that I was expecting.”</p><p>No. It was more authentic — and raw — than that.</p><p><i>Paul Gullixson is editorial director for The Press Democrat. E-mail him at paul.gullixson@pressdemocrat.com.</i></p>